And so,
that death! No, she could not have lived the three months with that
one before her, I think. You remember that the first time she was
wounded she was frightened, and cried, just as any other girl of
seventeen would have done, although she had known for eighteen
days that she was going to be wounded on that very day. No, she
was not afraid of any ordinary death, and an ordinary death was
what she believed the prophecy of deliverance meant, I think, for
her face showed happiness, not horror, when she uttered it.

Now I will explain why I think as I do. Five weeks before she was
captured in the battle of CompiŠgne, her Voices told her what was
coming. They did not tell her the day or the place, but said she
would be taken prisoner and that it would be before the feast of St.
John. She begged that death, certain and swift, should be her fate,
and the captivity brief; for she was a free spirit, and dreaded the
confinement. The Voices made no promise, but only told her to
bear whatever came. Now as they did not refuse the swift death, a
hopeful young thing like Joan would naturally cherish that fact and
make the most of it, allowing it to grow and establish itself in her
mind. And so now that she was told she was to be "delivered" in
three onths, I think she believed it meant that she would die in her
bed in the prison, and that that was why she looked happy and
content--the gates of Paradise standing open for her, the time so
short, you see, her troubles so soon to be over, her reward so close
at hand. Yes, that would make her look happy, that would make
her patient and bold, and able to fight her fight out like a soldier.
Save herself if she could, of course, and try for the best, for that
was the way she was made; but die with her face to the front if die
she must.

Then later, when she charged Cauchon with trying to kill her with
a poisoned fish, her notion that she was to be "delivered" by death
in the prison--if she had it, and I believe she had--would naturally
be greatly strengthened, you see.

But I am wandering from the trial. Joan was asked to definitelyk
name the time that she would be delivered from prison.

"I have always said that I was not permitted to tell you everything.
I am to be set free, and I desire to ask leave of my Voices to tell
you the day. That is why I wish for delay."

"Do your Voices forbid you to tell the truth?"

"Is it that you wish to know matters concerning the King of
France? I tell you again that he will regain his kingdom, and that I
know it as well as I know that you sit here before me in this
tribunal." She sighed and, after a little pause, added: "I should be
dead but for this revelation, which comforts me always."

Some trivial questions were asked her about St. Michael's dress
and appearance. She answered them with dignity, but one saw that
they gave her pain. After a little she said:

"I have great joy in seeing him, for when I see him I have the
feeling that I am not in mortal sin."

She added, "Sometimes St. Marguerite and St. Catherine have
allowed me to confess myself to them."

Here was a possible chance to set a successful snare for her
innocence.

"When you confessed were you in mortal sin, do you think?"

But her reply did her no hurt. So the inquiry was shifted once more
to the revelations made to the King--secrets which the court had
tried again and again to force out of Joan, but without success.

"Now as to the sign given to the King--"

"I have already told you that I will tell you nothing about it."

"Do you know what the sign was?"

"As to that, you will not find out from me."

All this refers to Joan's secret interview with the King--held apart,
though two or three others were present. It was known--through
Loyseleur, of course--that this sign was a crown and was a pledge
of the verity of Joan's mission. But that is all a mystery until this
day--the nature of the crown, I mean--and will remain a mystery to
the end of time. We can never know whether a real crown
descended upon the King's head, or only a symbol, the mystic
fabric of a vision.